Yeah, Right

"Yeah, Right"

Jonah 3

Chapter 3, of course, picks up right in the middle of the story.  So, let’s back up for a quick recap of what’s happened so far.  Jonah, a Jewish prophet, has been sent by God to go to Ninevah, the capital city of the Babylonian empire.  That, in itself is odd, because, up to that point, God only sent his prophets to his own people, not to the non-Jews.  It signaled a shift for the Jewish prophetic ministry, letting everyone know that God is concerned about and cares for not just the Jews, but also with non-Jewish people who have no idea who God is.  God is putting people on notice, through Jonah’s mission, that God’s people includes a lot more folk than just those who consider themselves God’s chosen.  It should be a signal to Christians as well who draw their boundaries of God’s favor too tightly.

Jonah listened to God’s “mission impossible” assignment calmly and courteously.  “Yup; mmm hmmm; yeah; OK; sure; yes; I understand perfectly; got it.”  And there was a lot of head nodding in the affirmative.  And then, Jonah, just as calmly and courteously bought a ticket on a boat heading in the opposite direction.  Instead of heading east on an over-the-land trek to Ninevah to preach God’s message of judgement to the Ninevites for their faithlessness, Jonah set sail on a ship heading west for Spain.

When you say NO to God, you have to expect there will be consequences.  That, ironically, is the message that God gave to Jonah to preach to the Ninevites.  They had said NO to God for far too long, and there were consequences for that kind of indifference.  I wonder why Jonah felt like there would possibly be no consequences for his way of saying NO to God.

The consequences came to Jonah.  God sent a storm of anger against the ship that Jonah was on.  So the consequences for Jonah’s NO, affected not only Jonah, but also all the others on the ship.  That’s what we don’t see:  that the consequences of our actions don’t often just affect us.  They move out in larger ripples to envelop all those around us, both loved ones and acquaintances.

It’s interesting that the sailors were almost more spiritually aware than Jonah.  They understand that there’s a spiritual dimension to this storm; that there’s a God behind this storm; that it’s not just a normal squall.  Jonah finally confesses that they are correct, and that God is after him.  Somehow Jonah decides the best way to save them is that he die.  Jonah decides the best way to save himself from this chasing-after-God, is to be sent to Davey Jones Locker.   That he be thrown overboard.

We don’t know how it is that Jonah came up with this idea.  We are not told if God somehow told him this weird solution to the stormy problem.  Or, that possibly Jonah simply had a death wish.  Jonah would rather die than do what God asked him to do (which fits in with Jonah’s personality better).  Jonah was asking the ship’s crew to help him commit suicide.  He had no idea if it would stop the storm.  He just wanted to end it, not give in to God or what God wanted.  So he preyed upon the superstitions of the sailors.  As they heaved him overboard, he folded his arms across his chest, closed his eyes, and prepared to die in a catastrophic storm at sea.

The sailors must have thought that was the end of Jonah.  Jonah thought that was the end of Jonah.  As he’s sinking further into the rocking arms of the undercurrent’s depths, the lights go out.  Jonah is in darkness.  He thinks he’s in the throes of death.  Instead he’s in the belly of a great fish.

It’s clear that the whale, or whatever kind of fish it was, that swallowed Jonah was sent by God, not as an act of punishment, but of grace.  Because that’s what this whole story is about.  God’s grace.  In the belly of the great fish, Jonah had some alone time to think.  Being given that alone time with God is always an act of grace, because it helps us ponder where our lives are going, and where they should be headed.  The alone time with God in the belly of the great fish gave Jonah some important alone time to rethink the way he was thinking.  We don't often stop and do that--take a time out to see if we are thinking right--if we're too negative, too pessimistic, too much over-thinking,  or just too little thinking deeply about things at all.

Jonah, like the prodigal son in Jesus' parable, finally came to his senses.  Isn’t that what grace is supposed to do?  Jonah was finally ready to pray.  And God was right there, ready to listen.

Jonah prayed his prayer of confession.  God accepted it.  Accepted Jonah.  And then God redirected.  Whenever we pray our confessions to God, God always gives us a new direction.  For Jonah, it was the original direction:  Head for Ninevah.  God is in the second chances business, and Jonah got his.

In a display of God’s sense of humor, God has the great fish barf Jonah up on shore.  You can’t help but laugh at the vision of Jonah sitting in a pile of whale barf--stinky, rotting fish guts, partly digested fish bones, stray pieces of this-and-that kinds of sea garbage, mixed in with intestinal slime and juices--all covering Jonah as he's waving goodbye to his ride, smiling a smirky grin in God’s direction.

That’s where we pick up the story here in chapter 3.  Jonah accepts God’s redirection and heads for Nineveh.  Nineveh was a combination of New York City, Los Angeles and Las Vegas.  Into that huge city, Jonah walked a days length and began preaching his one sentence sermon:  “In 40 days, Nineveh will be smashed!”

It must have been Jonah’s first sermon.  First sermons are notoriously either very long or very short.  I remember my first sermon in my first church.  I think I packed everything I learned from 3 years of seminary into one, tightly knit, theologically sound, historically accurate, 35 minute sermon.  It was impressive.  It was so impressive, people didn’t look at their watches; they pulled out their calendars, wondering what day this thing was going to be over.

On the other end of the spectrum there was David Livingstone’s first sermon.  Livingstone went on to become one of the great missionaries, but he was so nervous when giving his first sermon at a little village church, that he stood up and said, “Friends, I have forgotten all I had to say,” then ran out of the church.  I think that’s what the people in my first church wished I would have said and done.

Jonah’s sermon was kind of like that.  Certainly we’d like to think that the sermon to Nineveh was much longer, but all we have recorded is, “In 40 days, this place is toast.”  (Or something like that.)  Jonah must have been the kind of preacher who only had a one point sermon, and he liked to get right to it.

My question to you is, “After hearing a sermon like that, what are your options?”  I mean, what are all the different ways you could react and respond?

You could make fun of and belittle Jonah.  I used to be a fan of all the Law And Order TV shows.  One of the tactics of the the trial lawyers, especially when a witness had a damaging testimony, is to smudge that witness’s character.  So, in Jonah’s case, the Ninevites could have said something like, “But Jonah was told by God to come preach this message, but ran away in the other direction.  Even Jonah doesn’t believe it.  And what does that say about Jonah and his own faith and trust in this God he speaks of?  If that’s how Jonah acts, why do we need to listen to his message?”  The whole effect of Jonah’s mini-sermon would have been minimized.  That’s one possible reaction.

Or, another reaction the people of Nineveh could have had would be to ignore the message and the messenger.  They could have treated him as insignificant and unworthy to be listened to.  They could have responded to him with total indifference.  Just like they did with God.

When I was serving the church in Nebraska, I would go into Lincoln to listen to some blues at a festival that was called the July Jamm.  This one time I was walking around, looking at some art booth displays.  I happened to notice, just outside the fence, at one of the ticket gates, a street preacher.  He was preaching about the judgement of God; that God wanted all people to repent; that hell was waiting for those who didn’t repent of their evil ways.

I stood there and watched him for a while.  Mostly I watched the people walking by him.  No one was giving him the time of day.  They all walked right past him, busy in their own conversations and anticipations.  They were either trying hard to not pay attention, or just totally oblivious to the preacher and his message.  To nearly everyone, the preacher was invisible and mute.

But what if he were a Jonah figure, sent by God to tell us in 40 days everything as we know it is going up in smoke?  How do you know?  I guess one answer is not caring what the answer is to that question, and just walk on by.

There are probably a lot of assumptions that fuel that reaction.  One is the thought, “Yeah, Right.  That’s not going to happen.”  Or, “Why would God do that; we’re not that bad.”

Let’s examine that.  At the start of Jonah 3, God says to Jonah, in his redirection instructions:  “Preach to them.  They’re in a bad way and I can’t ignore it any longer” (vs. 2).  That statement tells us a lot.  First, it lets us know that people are always under God’s watchful care, even the ones we wouldn’t necessarily include in God’s list.  God cares when “those people” go off the deep end; when they mess up in a wholesale kind of way; when they get so deep in their own humanity, they can’t find their own way out.

Kind of like the church in the book of Revelation, at the end of the Bible.  Remember that list of seven churches that the Risen Christ addresses towards the start of the book.  To one of those churches, Christ says:

I know you inside and out, and find little to my liking.  You’re not cold.  You’re not hot.  Far better to be either cold or hot!  You’re stale.  You’re stagnant.  You make me want to spit you out of my mouth.  (3:15-16)

It wasn’t that the church was immoral or evil that Christ was disappointed.  It sounds like Christ wished they were either saints or totally corrupt.  At least Christ would know where they stood.  But instead, they were a church full of fence straddlers.

Or, more to the point, they were a bunch of people who looked God in the face, time after time, and said, “Maybe.”  Not, “Yes.”  Not, “No.”  But, “Maybe.”  Maybe I’ll be faithful.  Maybe I’ll be generous.  Maybe I’ll be a person who extends grace to others.  Maybe I'll be involved.  Maybe I’ll be a light for the grace of Christ.  Maybe I’ll take time to pray.  Maybe I’ll stretch my understanding and knowledge of scripture.  Maybe.  Maybe.  Maybe.

Maybe, Ninevah wasn’t a city full of immorality and smut.  Maybe that’s not why God felt they were “in a bad way.”  Maybe it was just because it was a city of “maybe people.”  Maybe you’re not that bad.  Maybe God isn’t going to turn us into a puff of smoke, and leave us in cinders.  Maybe.  But maybe isn’t good enough.  Maybe is what brings messages from God about being spit out of God’s mouth; or, that in 40 days God is going to bring the curtain down for the final act.

Secondly, God’s instructions to Jonah let us know that God doesn’t ignore anything.  It seems like it.  It may seem like God doesn’t care, and we get to go on acting and behaving as we please.  Because, (point upwards) He’s really not paying attention.

On the other side of that is the fact that God keeps waiting.  God keeps waiting for something to happen.  God keeps waiting for us to make the changes we know need to happen.  God is so patiently waiting for us to turn this mess around, and take some responsibility for what we have done, are doing and, apparently are going to keep on doing.  God keeps saying to God’s self, “I just know they’re going to clean up their act any moment.  I know I’m not going to have to step in and bully them into making the changes they know they need to make.”

One of the things I did for fun, when I lived in Leoti, was coach the two jr. high girls basketball teams.  During one of the games, I had one girl who kept throwing the ball to our opponents.  I stopped counting at 18, for the amount of times she threw the ball to the other team.  Our whole team should have less than 18 turnovers, let alone one girl.

My problem is, I believed in this girl.  I just knew she was going to stop doing what she was doing.  I talked to her personally every time out.  I kept muttering to the assistant coach, and mostly to myself, “I gotta make a change; I can’t let her keep throwing the ball to the other team like that.  I gotta do something.”

But I never did.  It wasn’t that I didn’t care what was happening out on the court.  I was balancing the reality of so many turnovers with my belief that she would stop throwing the ball away.  I never made the change I needed to make, and she ended up hurting us.  I ended up hurting us, because I didn’t do something I should have done as a coach.  I wasn’t ignoring the problem.  I just kept hoping she’d change.  I wanted her to succeed so badly, and I gave her chance after chance.  Probably too many chances.  I don’t know.  I’m just that way.

So I wonder about God, as God looks down at Nineveh, waiting and wondering how long it was going to be before they realized they were, time and time again, throwing their lives away.  And God patiently waited and waited for them to understand what they were doing, and make the change.  God must have taken a few time-outs, told the players in Nineveh what they needed to do out there in the game, but even so, they just kept throwing it all away.  Finally, God took the ultimate time-out and said, “I’m done waiting.  I’m not ignoring the problem.  But I’m not going to let the problem keep going on and on.”

So, the final option, when we hear a sermon like Jonah’s, when we hear the “or else” of God in that awful “time out” called by God, halting play, and letting everyone know what the expectations really are, the final option is to finally understand what needs to be done, and do it.

That means courageously facing the truth of God’s message.  God is not some cosmic sadist who likes to throw down pronouncements like that and laugh and say, “Just kidding; I wasn’t going to destroy you; I just like watching you all sweat and squirm and run for cover.”

No, we’ve got to take God seriously.  We need to find out why God thinks we’re in a bad way.  We better find out, because, maybe, just maybe, there’s something we can do about it.  After all, we’ve been given 40 days.

That’s an important point to see:  why the 40 days?  If God was beyond angry, then why not go ahead and destroy the place immediately?  Because, as I said in relation to Jonah and the Ninevites, our God is primarily a God of second chances.  The 40 days was an option of grace.  The 40 days was a second chance given to the people to change their ways, and stop throwing their lives away.  The 40 days was an ample time period to see if the people were willing to change their ways, and seriously begin working on their faithfulness to God.

My final questions are, Why do we need to be thrown off a boat, swallowed by a whale, or have God’s thunder clouds swirling over our heads before we are motivated to do what God simply wants?  Why does God have to tell us, “Or Else!” before we get serious about being God’s faithful human beings?  Why can’t we just be the faithful people God wants us to be, and do that willingly, joyfully, without having to be threatened into it?  If you can figure out the answers to those questions, and do it in less than 40 days, then maybe, just maybe, you will spare yourselves and this place.

A Guide For The Interior Regions

"A Guide For The Interior Regions"

1 Samuel 3:1-10

    "In those days, when the boy Samuel was serving the LORD under the direction of Eli, there were very few messages from the LORD, and visions from him were quite rare."

    I'm not exactly sure when my Christian life began.  I have some particular memories of when my interest was aroused.  I've told you about my experience as a young elementary student at an Episcopalian elementary school.  How we would march to worship, singing, "Onward Christian Soldiers."  How I would sit in awe in that sanctuary gazing at the high, and ornately beamed ceiling, the awesome and inspiring stained glass windows, especially the huge round one at the back of that cross-shaped sanctuary.  I could barely see over the back of the pew in front of me when we were instructed by the black-robed priest, Father Val Spinosa (who I thought was God) to pray.  As a kid in the pews I thought I was in the throne room of God.

    I think my spiritual sensitivity was enhanced by loving teachers like Mrs. MacCracken who demonstrated the pastoral side of the faith.  If that Episcopalian sanctuary introduced me to the awe and magnificence of God in my early life, Mrs. MacCracken introduced me to the loving and caring characteristics of the faith, just because of the way she was and how she dealt with me.

    And then there was a time in my early adolescence when I thought I heard the Voice of God.  I've told you about that as well.  Quietly sitting in the sanctuary on a Sunday morning, listening to the sermon, I heard the Voice.  At the time, I knew who I had heard from, but I didn't know what it all meant.  I did something very uncharacteristic for me at that age.  I started reading.  Reading the Bible.  Reading Hurlbutt's Storybook of the Bible.  And a little later, I wandered into a Bible Book Store and by accident or design, picked up the two volumes of William Barclay's commentary on the Gospel of John.  I devoured them at the expense of all my homework and other responsibilities a young teenager was supposed to fulfill.

    I needed to know about that Voice.  I needed someone to tell me about that Voice that had so gripped me in a fleeting moment on a Sunday morning.  I needed someone to somehow make sense of it for me, as well as they could for a 7th grade kid.  I thought I had more troublesome things to worry about, like girls.  But that Voice became the bold headlines of my mornings, and the object of my foggy pondering as I would drift to sleep each night.

    Ministers were not entirely helpful.  Instead of telling me about the Voice, they talked about church.  And more than that, they gave me some minor responsibilities in the church.  But I didn't want to know about an institution and how it operated, as if that would put me in touch with the Voice.  I needed someone to give me direction to the One whose Voice I heard.

    I recently read an article about George Fox who was the founder of the Society of Friends, or who we know as the Quakers.  George Fox had what he called his religious awakening when he was a young man.  He also went on a similar search for someone to tell him what had happened to him, and explain some things about his transformation.

    Fox kept a journal in which he wrote about all of his experiences with the people to whom he turned for answers.  One entry in his journal read, "I heard of a priest living in Tamworth, who was accounted an experienced man, and I went seven miles to him; but I found him like an empty, hollow cask."

    What George Fox discovered in his search to be put in touch with God, was that many pastors have mastered technique and skill and built a reputation on those.  Pastors learn how certain skills can carry them through the work of the church.  But when a genuinely searching person shows up, wrestling with angels, grappling with their sin, following the remnants of that Voice, feeling like their souls are on the line, most pastors are not prepared to be that kind of guide.

    Instead, the searching person creates fear in many pastors.  Such innocent and honest searching just might expose some undetected shallowness in the minister that "technique" has been able to mask.  Maybe ministers will be discovered to be no deeper than the platitudes they utter in worship.  We are good at devising quips, and falling into painless roles so that we can function smoothly and successfully.  But none of this can be sustained in an acutely personal spiritual encounter.  That is, when a George Fox comes in your door.  Or a young adolescent who says he has heard the Voice.

    That's why I like this story about Eli the priest and his young charge, Samuel.  At infancy, Samuel had been dedicated to God by his parents.  That didn't mean what it does today.  It didn't mean his parents just brought him to church one day and had the priest lay hands on the infant and say a nice prayer.  The parents gave their son Samuel to the priest.  Gave him up.  Turned this young boy over.  The sanctuary adopted Samuel.  Eli was in charge of the child (1 Samuel 2:11).

    Samuel grew up in the temple.  We might hear someone say, "I grew up in the church."  They never knew a time when they weren't in the church or apart from it.  It has always been there for them, and they had always been there when the doors were open.  For Samuel, all that was literally true.  And like Samuel, they may have never felt like they had a choice in the matter.  So Samuel knew about the work of religion.  He knew about worship.  He knew what was expected of him, religiously speaking.  He was learning from this seasoned old priest, Levi, the ins and outs of religion.

    But then Samuel heard the Voice.  Calling his name.  Samuel was awakened from his sleep by God.  Never having heard that Voice, never really knowing what to listen for, since "there were very few messages from the LORD, and visions from him were quite rare," Samuel mistook the Voice of God for that of Levi's.  Thinking he was being called by the priest, Samuel went as he thought he was being bidden.  After sending the boy back three times, it finally occurred to Eli what was happening, and whose Voice it was who was calling.

    Patiently, caring and perceptive, Eli instructed Samuel in how he was to respond the next time he heard the Voice.  Eli went so far as to give Samuel the very words he was to use in responding to God.  In this dramatic scene, young Samuel is completely dependent upon the spiritual guidance of Eli.  Samuel is uncertain and must be guided in how to answer God, how to listen to God, and how to carry on conversation with the Voice of the Calling One.

    I think I got misguided, as George Fox did.  I got caught up in trying to study my way into the presence of God, and although I gained a wealth of knowledge and some wisdom, I ended up knowing about the Voice, but not knowing the Voice.  Instead of responding like Samuel, guided by Eli ("Speak Lord, your servant is listening") I would go out and buy another commentary.

   As a pastor I quickly learned that when people brought their problems, they wanted a psychologist, not a spiritual guide.  They also didn't know how to listen, but only wanted a quick fix answer, or a book to read that would give them information.  And since that's the way I was, I was only so happy to accommodate them.

    It took a long time for me to realize I should be an Eli, not a Sigmund Freud.  I was a priest and a pastor, not a psychologist.  It was my task to get people to listen to what God had to say, rather than what the latest personality profile said.  It was my responsibility to lead people in worship, not in some form of an encounter group.  There is a lot of spoken and unspoken pressure to be the one, and not the other.  But there is a greater need to be guided in the things of God.  I wish I had had an Eli early on.

    Everyone needs a guide for the interior regions of faith.  There are spiritual dimensions to psychological problems that all too often go unexamined.  Few know how, or are comfortable with prayer.  If God spoke, how many would know the Voice, or how to respond, or where to go to find out?

    The truth is, God is always doing something--always trying to get our attention.  Responding to God is not a matter of sheer guesswork.  Teaching people how to pray, helping believers identify the presence of grace in events and feelings, affirming the presence of God at the very heart of life, searching for light through a dark passage in the pilgrimage of belief, and guiding people to a vision of themselves through the glasses of the biblical and spiritual, rather than just the psychological or sociological--all these are the tasks of the pastor.  That is why the work of spiritual direction is so essential--because we need to deal with the obvious, with the Voice of God, when we would rather deal with almost anything else.

    Being a spiritual guide, as Eli was a guide, means noticing the familiar and naming the particular.  What Eli was familiar with was God, and when that particular Voice spoke, he was able to identify it and guide Samuel in how to pay attention to it.  It's the difference between being aware that birds are everywhere, and naming each particular bird.  In the same way, we can easily say, "God is everywhere," but it is a harder thing to be able to recognize where God is in particular, especially in each individual life.

    The apostle Paul wrote in his first letter to the Corinthian church:

For though you have countless guides in Christ, you do not have many fathers.  For I became your father in Christ Jesus through the gospel.  I urge you, then, be imitators of me.  (4:15-16)

    What Paul is saying here is something that continues to be true.  The more public, preacher, motivational aspects of ministry have always been more attractive--not only as a role for ministers, but a role that people in the pew fall in behind too easily.  It is easier to tell people what to do, from a distance, than to be with them in a discerning, prayerful companionship as they work themselves through it.  This has been aggravated by the mass marketing of spiritual self-helps.  People looking for guidance get paperback best-sellers, digest articles, listen to television talk show guests or watch youtube.

    But the very nature of the life of faith requires personal, and ongoing conversation between those who have heard the Voice and are searching, with those who are mature in the faith and are familiar with ways of helping people identify the Voice and look for grace in their lives.  May you all find an Eli to lead along those interior regions.

From Chaos To Creation

"From Chaos To Creation"

Genesis 1:1-2

Formless.

Emptiness.

Darkness.

The way of all things,

before God began to speak.

Without God-Voice

all is raging chaos.

In three words

an unthinkable existence--

without meaning,

without purpose

without significance.

Power

in the substance of absence.

Formlessness is a power.

Emptiness is a power.

Darkness

the total absence of light

is a power.

Before God-Voice

nothingness

and non-sense

are in control.

They swirl together

laughing out of the void.

On this side of God-Voice

everything has form.

Imagine...

imagine if you can

non-form

anti-form:

no individuality

the inability to distinguish

one from another

where you end

and I begin

the boundaries of this and that

the shape that which is

and that which is not;

imagine

imagine if you can

boarder-less disorder

and disorderly arrangement

undistinguishable anti-beauty.

Everything

one big cream soup

spilling

and slopping

unconfined.

On this side of God-Voice

everything is full.

Imagine...

imagine if you can

only outlines

drawn around empty space,

containing nothing.

Boarders

but no inside parts.

No heart.

No guts.

An edge

with no muscle

or nerve.

Uselessness.

Worthlessness.

Purposeless.

“If I only had a brain...”

A bag

with no contents.

Imagine...

Imagine if you can

empty

zero

with no other numbers.

Only outlines

like in a coloring book

that has not been filled in

by a child’s hand.

Flat.

Emptiness,

is the power of

One dimensional being

one dimensional depth.

with no substance

virtual reality

but not real.

On this side of God-Voice

there is light.

Imagine...

imagine if you can

zero light

unboardered darkness;

an immense horizon

in which even the horizon

is lost to the blackness

flitting upon a world

possibly with form

but without light

like the blind men

and the elephant

feeling your way

groping

in a world that may want to be seen

but can’t be;

lost 

in the total obscurity of darknesses ink

totally hidden from view

behind a closed closet door

that can never be opened.

Your color crayon wishing

scribbled on the unknown

and unknowable

all hues lost

in the uselessness

of your paintbrush

dipped in cans of color

made unvisable

with your strokes in the darkness

that don't  even yield

to grays and shadows.

Formlessness.

Emptiness.

Darkness.

Powers all.

Exerting the power of

zero

on a dis-existant void.

Destabilizers.

Turning structure into goo,

making words like

process

society

family

world

body

flower

totally unspeakable.

The Spirit of God

the God-Voice

hovers over the chaotic powers

who disembowels the very meaning

out of meaning.

The Spirit of God

the God-Voice

hovers over the chaotic powers

ready

steady

biding it’s time

in a place

--can we even call it that?--

where even time

makes no sense

without fullness

form

or light.

The Spirit of God

the God-Voice

hovers

ready in its laughter

to create sovereignty

where the nothingness

and emptiness

and lightless chaos

thinks itself supreme.

Watch out for the hovering God-Sprit

Watch out for the hovering God-Voice

all chaos--

what you thought were your unnumbered days

are soon to be numbered

with dimensional fulness

color

form

and light.

Individuality

is about to fall--

as if from above

the hovering God-Spirit dives.

Woe to you formlessness.

Woe to you.

All disruption will die:

Debilitation.

Chronic illness.

Accident.

Woe to you!

You keep leaking back into the world of the God-Voice,

disrupting the form

around which life is taking shape

blurring the lines

of a people’s ideals

opening up the loop

of life’s circles

into the twisted helixes

of a roller coaster

that never lets us off;

cutting

but not pasting

the defining words

of our identity--

we know your tricks,

formlessness!

your confusion

heaping too many definitions

upon our words

until they collapse

under the weight of too much meaning,

saying this is that

and that is this

black is really white

and white is really green.

Hovering no longer

the God-Spirit dives

dives into the boarder-less

and boundary-less

swirling mass of confusion

comes the God-Spirit

the God-Voice

and with a word

order,

shape,

beauty,

individuality:

the delicate rose and pansy

the smooth curves

of the human body

the artistic symmetry

of a city skyline

the powerful heights

of a sequoia redwood

the curl of a wave

on the ocean beach

the horizon line

that divides the plains

from all this sky

and history

creating tradition.

Into an indistinct world

where you thought you ruled

O formlessness

on you descends

the immeasurable imagination

of the hovering God-Spirit.

Out of a state

we cannot imagine

--formlessness--

the artistic God-Word

fashions all that we can imagine:

shapes

forms

curves

lines

textures

ripples

dimples.

Be told,

O people

maybe feeling formless

maybe feeling identity lost

maybe feeling indistinct

maybe feeling less like an individual

and more like spilled out

cream soup

Be told,

that hovering over you

that same God-Spirit

with an imagination

with an unlimited reservoir

of the words

of possibility

that same God-Voice

that once spoke

speaks again

individuality

beauty

shape

into your swirling formlessness.

Woe to you emptiness

woe to you

woe to your weapons:

depression

the lights are on

but nobody’s home;

feeling unnecessary to others

unimportant

in the larger plan of things;

making no impact craters

on anyones moon

in anyones life

in any situation

in the long march of situations;

woe to you emptiness

the way you find the gap

in the armor of even the strong

worming loneliness

into the givers

who give

and give

and give

until they are empty

bucket holders

ladling from their abundance

to and fro

while others

out of need

receive the precious gift

but have nothing to give

in return

givers

becoming the ones in need

simply by their giving

always giving

but hardly ever receiving

to replenish what wealth they had.

You think your power is great

emptiness

making people walk around

emptied of content

thin outlines

but without substance

looked through

as if invisible

shallow

no depth of character

no maturity;

coloring book people

lines on a flat page.

O emptiness

on you descends

the hovering

the purposeful

artistic

God-Spirit.

Be told

O people

maybe feeling

bucket empty

maybe depressed dark

maybe lonely

bereft of the content of life

maybe drained of consequence

even to yourself

Be told

that hovering over you

is the God-Spirit

with Voice filled

crayons

colored pencils

clay

buckets full of paints of every imaginable hue

with brushes

and with God-Spirit laughter

your lines will be filled

coloring even outside the lines;

the God-Voice

creating depth

and color

and character

to our emptied outline selves.

The God-Spirit

moving to and fro

creating substance

and solidity

leaving no dimension untouched

overflowing

with purpose and force

gushing out

meaning and value

into our empty buckets

God-Spirit

moving against the empty power

of emptiness

overcoming it

by filling it in.

Woe to you darkness

woe to you

diminishing color

by sucking up the light

as dusk turns to night

washing everything

into gray

until even the gray is lost

in the black ink

of your tentacled darkness.

You can not erase color.

You can only hide it.

In the throes of your power

you attempt to create

uniformity

boredom

where shapes and forms

are even hidden

making our eyes useless

all is visually hidden,

making everything guesswork

in faded obscurity

no shadows

no shapes

no sense of personal existence

no reflection.

Senseless groping

where hope’s only hope

is to bump into another groping other

just as lost

just as aimless

just as anxious

just as afraid

of the dark

like a child

waiting for the boogeyman

to come creeping out of the closet

or out from under

the dark nether land

of under-bed

the dark

where bad things approach unbeknown

without warning

even if they really aren’t there

but have become part

of our dark imagination

because we have nothing else.

Dark--

nobody’s home

closed for business

go away

don’t come near

protecting a little,

fearful

piece of dark and unseen turf

afraid to venture any further

because

it’s a big, bad world

out there in the dark.

Be told

O people,

be told

that hovering over you

is God-Spirit

beaming

light giving

not only creating light

but is Light

the Source

and the Reflector

opening up your world

the Revealer

of color

and shape

and wonder

that was always there

but that the darkness

tried to keep hidden;

the God-Spirit

the light

for your path

taking away your fear

of stepping

one step further

because the darkness

is now gone

evaporated

faster than a morning fog

opening up panorama

out of paranoia

taking off blinders

dissipating fear

erasing anxiety

creating openings

where there were closings

wide arms of welcome

where there was fearful self-protection;

the God-Spirit

with visibility

and light

radiates warmth in that light

radiates hope in the heart

radiates joy

that is compounded with each

light enlightened person

who takes up the dance

in the expansive brightness

of the God-Spirit.

Formlessness.

Emptiness.

Darkness.

All are powers.

As powers

they think they have dominion

over all that is.

They think they are

large and in charge.

God-Spirit laughs.

Laughs!

Laughs a rip-roaring laugh.

Primary and pulsating God-Spirit

hovering God-Spirit

descends

Life burgeons:

form

fullness

light

all from God-Spirit

unleashed upon the quasi-powers

shown for what they are

this God-Spirit

will not be shoved to the margins

will not be an option among many

will not be minimized

will not be darkened

emptied

or disemboweled.

This hovering God-Spirit

descends with Life

life with form

life with fullness

life with light

all the powers destroyed

in a fit of

laughing creativity

from the God-Voice

who looks upon

the form-full

filled in

enlightened world

emanating from the God-laughter

of creative self-expression

and is pleased,

very pleased.

What About The Brussel Sprouts?

"What About The Brussel Sprouts?"

Jeremiah 31:1-14

I found this poem about leftovers by Rachel Howells.  This is how the poem reads:

The leftovers waited patiently,


In the fridge for their turn.


They did not harbor resentment,


Nor was their banishment of concern.

Except for the Brussels sprouts,


Who were filled with worry and doubt.


They knew they emitted a terrible stench,


Like rotten eggs and old sauerkraut.

But as the leftovers leisurely gossiped


In the crisp freon atmosphere,


Brussels foresaw a hopeless destiny


"We're never getting out of here!"

Brussels had been overcooked,


And gave off a rancid smell.


They would be the only leftover


The gluttons would repel.

The other leftovers humored Brussels,


While furtively rolling their esculent eyes.


Then just as predicted they heard muffled voices,


"You get the turkey, I'll get the pies."

They could hear dishes clanging,


And the fridge door slowly creaking, 


With a flood of light the gluttons had arrived,


Whispering and sneaking.

All the leftovers were piled onto plates, 


And then happily microwaved.


Except for the Brussels sprouts,


Left in the fridge to rot as they ranted and raved. (by Rachel Howells)

So I ask you: What about the brussels sprouts?  What about the leftover brussels sprouts?  The best solution to the problem would have been not to cook the things in the first place.  They are not worth it, either cooking them or warming them up as leftovers.

A decision has to be made, though.  They’re in there.  Those round, army green colored things are in the refrigerator.  Even the container they are in is not enough to keep their “rancid smell” from escaping and affecting the entire contents of the refrigerator’s cold storage.  Something will have to be done with them.  They can’t be allowed to just sit there and continue to affect all the other, more desirable leftovers.  Either eat the things or throw them out.

With poetry, there is usually more going on than just the basic images.  Is this clever and witty poem just about brussels sprouts being passed over for the more desirable turkey and pies?  Is it just about leftover food consumed by the “gluttons” who open the refrigerator door?

I see a deeper level stirring in this poem.  It is a poem not just about the vegetables but also about the people we choose.  It’s a poem about the people we don’t choose--the leftovers of the leftovers.  They are the people who have been “overcooked” by life.  They are the people that even other leftover types roll their “esculent eyes” at.  (“Esculent” means edible; that they are desirable to be eaten, whereas the brussels sprouts are not esculent--not only inedible, but they don't even LOOK edible.)  The brussels sprout people whom we barely tolerate.  The people who feel like they’re left to rot.

What about the brussels sprouts?  What about the Israelites feeling like leftovers in the Babylonian refrigerators?  What about the Israelites exiled to the back and bottom shelf of the world?  When will someone--God?--open the door, turn on the light, and look for them?

Their time is about to come.  God has opened the door.  God isn’t looking for the turkey.  God isn’t looking for the pie.  God isn’t looking for the beautiful people that everyone wants to be around.  God is looking for the brussels sprouts.  It’s time to end their exile on the lower, back shelf.

It’s been 70 years since the exile began.  70 years.  Cyrus the Persian has conquered and taken over the Babylonian Empire.  It’s no longer the Babylonian’s refrigerator.  It’s come under new ownership.  It’s time to clean it out.  Cyrus issued an edict that all slaves and captives are now free to return to their homeland.

But it’s been 70 years.  If you were 18 when the Babylonian exile and captivity began, that means you are now 88 years old.  Will you go back?

At least two new generations have been born into the world since 587 BC.  For the most part, the children and grandchildren of the exiles have grown up and raised families of their own.  They have become amalgamated into the Babylonian culture.

Calvin Trillin once said, “The most remarkable thing about my mother is that for thirty years she served the family nothing but leftovers. The original meal has never been found.”  And the original exiles may be all but gone.  What remains are a lot of leftovers who have only heard stories of a land told about in old stories.  Would these children and grandchildren go back to a land and a way of being that they have no connection to?  Would they take the chance to discover the “original meal” from whence they came?

How many, after 70 years, would take the opportunity given them by Cyrus and go to Israel?  Not many.  God calls them the remnant (vs. 7).

A remnant is a leftover, a fragment, a scrap.  Most everyone took Jeremiah’s advice from his letter, built homes, planted gardens, and started families, intermarrying with Babylonian people.  Given the opportunity to go back to Israel, most said, “No.”  And it’s not that they were even “going back.”  They had never come from there in the first place.  The only home these second and third generation exiles knew was Babylon.

But there was a remnant who went back.  The scraps.  The leftover people.  Listen how they are described:

...I will bring them from the north country,

and gather them from the farthest parts of the earth,

among them the blind and the lame,

the woman with child

and her who is in travail together.  (verse 8)

Not only are these the remnants.  These are the brussels sprouts.  They are the helpless, the hopeless, and the scoundrels; the infidels, the enemy.

The “north country” was the direction from which invading armies came.  Nothing good came from the north, when you read the Old Testament history of invasions.  All dreaded enemies came from the north country.  But these are the ones God is using as a remnant to rebuild the people.

There is no more powerful image for being vulnerable than the image of a pregnant woman.  Or a woman in the process of giving birth.  But it is these most vulnerable brussels sprouts people whom God will use as the chosen remnant.

Blind people.  The lame.  If someone had a physical affliction or disability like blindness or being crippled, that person was considered cursed and under the judgement of God.  They had supposedly done something terrible to offend God, so God afflicted them.  But these are the ones God says will be his remnant--his scraps, his leftovers.  And by being God’s remnant, they will be the foundation of God’s grand rebuilding project in Israel.

What can you make out of remnants and leftovers?  I ordered a cookbook a few months ago titled, The Pleasures Of Cooking For One.  It was put together by Judith Jones, who was the editor for all of Julia Child’s cookbooks.  What is unique, and what I love about this cookbook is that Judith Jones shows how to morph one meal into another entirely different meal using your leftovers.

When I was up in Kansas City last week we had meat loaf night.  Ryan, Amanda and I made a couple of different kinds of meatloaf.  Then we had all kinds of side dishes to go with them.  It was fantastic.  So we had two kinds of leftover meatloaf.  What to do rather than just reheat a slab, or make a sandwich?  I turned to Judith Jones cookbook.  She suggested making stuffed eggplant or stuffed peppers with left over meatloaf.  Which is what I did.  We used a piece of the sauerkraut stuffed pork meatloaf in this amazing recipe for stuffed peppers (since I don’t like eggplant).  It was great!  Leftovers, totally transformed into an entirely new meal.

Fabric remnants can be remade into a beautiful quilt.  I’ve even seen some of the most extraordinary quilts made out of old ties and old t-shirts.  I like what Thomas Fuller once said, “Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories.  Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart.”  We take these leftovers all full of memories of their own, and turn them into an entirely new memory.

As with these kinds of remnants, it isn’t the remnants themselves.  It isn’t about them as much as it is about the creativity of the cook and the seamstress.  It is more about the mind and hands of the one into whom the remnants, leftovers, and scraps find themselves.

This is what we learn about God in this 31st chapter of Jeremiah.  God uses the scraps, the brussels sprouts if you will, no matter how stinky and beleaguered they appear.  Then by adding a few more ingredients, those remnants and leftovers are transformed.  Think of the brussels sprouts people that God took back to Israel and made a whole new nation.  Think of Jesus and the Last Supper, taking the leftovers from the Seder Supper and transforming them into Holy Communion.

And think of personal tragedy.  In remnant theology and thinking, the question isn’t: “What all have I lost?”  The more authentic question is, “What do I have left?”

Then, once you’ve ascertained the answer to that question, the next and more important question is, “Placed in God’s hands, what can these leftovers, this remnant be transformed into?”  Your remnant may not look like much.  Maybe like brussels sprouts that have been in the refrigerator too long.  Maybe like blindness, lameness, and pregnant vulnerability.  But remember, it’s not about the remnant/leftovers, how little or lame it appears to be.  It is about the creative God who takes whatever that is and transforms it totally.

The artist, Pablo Picasso once said of his craft:  “The artist is a receptacle for the emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web.”  God, as the ultimate artist, sculptor, chef, quilter can take any of your disparate remnants and create beauty.

Look at the list of remnants that God takes and transforms in this chapter:

--From the remnant of collapsed buildings and lives, God says, “You shall be built.”

--From the remnant of faithless whoredom, God says, “You shall be virgin Israel.”

--From the remnant of nakedness, God says, “You shall adorn yourself.”

--From the remnant of depression, God says, “You shall go forth in dance.”

--From the remnant of weeds and thistles, God says, “You shall plant vineyards.”

--From the remnant of thirst and desert dryness, God says, “I will make you walk by brooks of water.”

What about the brussels sprouts?  Can God take your stinky, overcooked brussels sprouts, tucked away in some unseen corner of your refrigerated life and make something new with them?  What do those brussels sprouts represent for you?  What leftover part of your life have you overcooked?  What remnant part of your life stinks?  What scarp of your life would you rather just throw away?

Would you be willing to give those leftovers/remnants/scraps over to God?  Again, remember, it’s not about the leftover (what it is, how it stinks, how small it might be, how long it’s been) that matters.  It’s about God, and how God can transform whatever your remnant is.  Will you put it in God’s hands?